


Smoke

by viajeramyra



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Bad Cooking, Cooking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: They'd be a lot better off if Martín left the cooking to Andrés....Or then again, maybe not.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín
Comments: 9
Kudos: 159





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing wrong with writing fluffy Berlermo fics all day at work when your systems are down and you can't really get anything else done. 
> 
> Had zero more creative ideas for a title tonight, so it is what it is. 
> 
> Can you believe we only have 10 days left? And that we got a lot of interviews with Rodrigo and Pedro talking about Berlin x Palermo? I think it'll be really good, but super angsty.

Martín pushed the cart, keeping just a few steps behind Andrés as he carefully walked up and down just the right aisles in the store. He seemed to know where every ingredient was shelved, saving no expense for whatever culinary wonder he had brewing in his mind. They had left their house thirty minutes ago, driving until they reached the specialty store Andrés insisted on shopping at.

When he’d settled into the passenger’s seat in the front of the car, he had tried to give his best puppy eyes to Andrés before he’d started driving. “We can just go around the corner,” he’d said, as his bottom lip puffed out.

Andrés only laughed in response, leaning to give him a soft peck on the cheek before he focused on driving. “No, not today Martín. I want dinner to be exceptional, which requires a bit of a drive. You can be on your best behavior for a few hours.”

Martín had folded his arms across his chest in mock offended defeat, but relaxed to the sound of Andrés humming along to whatever song was playing on the radio.

They had been together five years to the day, and Andrés had insisted on staying in for the evening. It was unlike him to spend such a big occasion at home, but Martín was happy to go along with whatever he wanted. Him hopelessly following along to whatever plot Andrés thought up had always been their dynamic, but he never had a single complaint about it. He had never been so content with his life before, and there were no changes he wanted to actively pursue.

He peaked into the basket as they continued shopping, trying to take his best guess at what their evening meal would be. Much like everything else in his life, Andrés had an artistic flair for carefully arranging a meal without a recipe. Something inside of him just knew what paired well together, and what risky adjustments were worth taking to create a spectacular new dish. Though he recognized the fish, vegetables, and strawberries Andrés had carefully arranged in their cart, the extent of his knowledge ended there. He was quite certain some of the spices in the small one ounce jars were definitely overpriced, but he couldn’t pronounce them. Andrés didn’t need to look twice at them though, indication enough he knew exactly what he was doing.

Martín, on the other hand, had enough culinary skill to put a frozen pizza into a preheated oven and usually not burn it. He’d never eaten so well until Andrés came into his life, evident in the way his stomach had rounded out just a little.

He parked the cart just behind where Andrés stood, rubbing his chin as he carefully looked over an assortment of different types of rice Martín had never heard of. His boyfriend turned his head slightly to look back at him, a thin smile on his face. “It’s a surprise, Martín. Though, if you’d ever let me teach you to cook, perhaps you’d be able to figure it all out on your own.”

“If I knew how to cook, why would I keep you around?” He teased back, his hand moving to gently squeeze Andrés’.

He rolled his brown eyes, but intertwined their fingers together regardless. He continued to search through the bags, until his hand reached out on the one he had been looking for. He put the bag into the cart, walking alongside Martín now, while he pushed the cart with his free hand.

They started to walk towards the checkout line, Martín’s eyes drifting over to the bakery on the other side of the store. Andrés must have caught his gaze, as he leaned in closer to Martín’s ear and purred, “We already have all the dessert we need.”

He ran his hand through his hair, looking down as he bit his lip. He tried to hide the red tint in his cheeks behind the collar of his black button-up shirt, but Andrés’ chuckle told him he’d seen it regardless. He was just about to respond, when he heard a faint buzzing coming from Andrés’ back pocket. His eyes narrowed, an irritated growl escaping his lips as he reached to pull his phone out. He put up one finger towards Martín, his eyes softening for just a moment as he stepped out of line to take the call. “There better be a fire,” Martín heard him mutter into the phone as he walked away.

Martín kept moving forward in the line, every so often looking over his shoulder. Andrés was pacing in the walk way between the aisles and checkout counters, his fingers pinched on the bridge of his nose, face beet red. He was quite impressed he wasn’t screaming, but he seemed able to keep his voice controlled to angry grumbles. He looked down at the food as he started to load it onto the belt, sighing to himself. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be the evening either of them had hoped for after all.

He grabbed the bags from the attendant, looking over his shoulder to try and grab Andrés’ attention. He was still talking away on the phone, but caught his eye as Martín tilted his head towards the exit. They met there, Andrés promptly hanging up the phone.

He angrily stuffed it back into his pocket. “I’ll call a car,” he whispered, looking up at Martín looking rather deflated. “My incompetent assistant has almost cost me the Tokyo exhibit deal. I have to get into the office straight away.”

The apology hung between them, unspoken but ever present in the way Andrés refused to look directly at him, shifting from side to side. Martín placed his hand on his cheek, kissing his forehead softly. “It’s okay, Andrés. I understand. I’m sure you’ll have it under control in a few hours and be on your way home.”

He nodded in response, his smile returning to his face as he handed Martín the keys. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, before heading back to the front of the store to wait for his ride to pick him up.

The drive home was quite, and he kept looking at the empty seat next to him wishing Andrés was there. He wasn’t upset with Andrés, of course. He understood the demanding pressure placed upon him as the lead art curator, in addition to how naturally proud and competitive he was. He couldn’t complain too much, it was simply part of the charm he had deeply fallen in love with. But, as he flattened his hand in the space where Andrés should be, he couldn’t help but miss him and wish he had decided against going in that evening.

He unloaded the groceries from the car, placing them all carefully on the marble island in the middle of their kitchen. As he carefully started to take a few of them items out of their reusable grocery bags, he began to wonder where he would even put any of this. Andrés kept his kitchen to a strict code, and Martín didn’t want to start putting things out of place. He sighed, propping his elbows up on the counter, burying his face into his hands.

“You could always cook yourself,” he laughed as he shook his head. It was a pathetic attempt at a joke, the only thing he could do to try and make himself feel better.

But then again, why not? It looked like a simple enough meal: cook the fish on the stove, boil the rice, and cut the vegetables. It certainly wasn’t the most impossible task. There were endless cooking videos on the internet, and he was certain one of them could give him enough guidance if he really needed the help. It would be a pleasant surprise for Andrés to come home to, and hopefully be enough to put their evening back on track that much faster.

He started pulling open cabinet doors, looking for the most familiar pots and pans he had seen Andrés working with before. There was no denying just how eccentric his boyfriend was—he was certain they had ever single shape, size, and material they could ever find at any store. Before they’d moved in together, Martín had one, small silver boiling pot he used to make all of his meals.

He picked two that looked most familiar to him, and the smaller of their two rice cookers. He poked a hole through the plastic of the rice bag, pouring in a generous amount before he dumped the water in. “Off to a good start,” he told himself, as he plugged the cord into the outlet. Perhaps this wouldn’t end in a complete disaster after all.

He pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket, quickly searching for some advice on how to prepare the fish. He knew this would be the hardest part, and also take the longest amount of time. And, to make matters worse, he wasn’t even completely sure what kind of fish this was. Certainly, though, it couldn’t make that much of a difference.

The website he chose had a helpful graphic about gutting the fish, and a suggestion for what temperatures it would need to be cooked at. He hit the button to turn on the stove, before grabbing one of the knives from the wooden case.

Perhaps he had been giving Andrés too much credit for too long. None of this seemed all that difficult or intimidating anymore. It was altogether possible he had simply gotten lazy, allowing himself to be pampered instead of trying to lift a finger for an easy task.

He picked up a few of the spices, spinning off their lids to sniff them. Certainly, there was no harm in putting these to the side and simply using some salt.

His phone rumbled against the counter, Andrés’ name and contact picture lighting up the screen. He balanced the tray in one hand against his hip, holding his phone against his ear with the other. ‘Mi cariño, how is it?” He asked, trying not to sound too hopeful or impatient.

“It was a fucking nightmare.”

“Was sounds promising, though? Are you on your way home?” He balanced his phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling back the oven door. He knew something was already off when he didn’t feel any heat coming out from the other side of the door. He placed the dish on the stove-top, trying to quietly press the buttons.

He hadn’t actually managed to turn it on. He slapped his palm against his face, trying to contain the groan so Andrés didn’t expect anything was up. He huffed, and played with the buttons once more. Surely, it was just a simple matter of raising the temperature and dinner could still come out on time.

“Yes, I’ll be home in twenty minutes. I’m ready to be home with you, I hope you aren’t too upset.”

Martín’s heart couldn’t help but flutter at Andrés’ soft insecurities. Everyone always gave him such a hard time for being emotionally closed off. Harsh words, such as sociopath, were thrown around about him. He could understand that, from a certain standpoint. Andrés was well guarded, keeping up the appearance everyone expected from him. He hardly gave himself a break to show how exhausted he was, reveal any sort of weaknesses in front of his colleagues or friends. However, from almost the moment they had met, he had been comfortable letting small peaks of that come out around Martín. He was ready to have him back at their house, curled up in the middle of their massive bed.

“Of course not, Andrés. This wasn’t your fault,” he quickly assured him. “Listen, I’ll see you soon. I love you.” He added, before he hit the end call button.

He increased the temperature on the oven once more, quickly moving to chop the vegetables. His meal not be as photographic worthy as the ones Andrés put together, but at least he would be able to have something on the table. He pulled out two of the nicer white plates, starting to put everything together in a decent arrangement.

He left everything cooking for a moment, and headed downstairs into their wine cellar. Andrés had insisted on keeping huge barrels and tall, long shelves long stocked. Certainly, they would never get around to drinking half of what they kept down here. He’d tried to point out he was just as happy with the cheap stuff they could get at the store, but Andrés would hear none of it. Their priorities were certainly different when it came to this sort of thing, but he loved seeing the wide smiles on his face whenever he brought home a new bottle for their collection.

At a work conference in Palermo, Martín had picked up a couple of nice bottles. They hadn’t gotten around to trying any, so now was probably as good a time as any. He pulled out the first bottle of red he could get his hands on from that trip, and turned to walk back up the stairs once more.

Right into a cloud of smoke coming from the oven.

He rushed to put the wine on the table, grabbing two of the oven mitts before he threw open the oven door. He waved his hand, coughing at the smoke filled his noses and mouth, his eyes watering. Apparently, turning up the heat was not the simple solution he had hoped it would be.

He was certain you wouldn’t have been able to tell the blackened bricks had once been any sort of animal.

He dropped the tray back on the stove-top, shoulders slumped. He slowly moved to open the window, giving the smoke some sort of escape from the room. Andrés would be home any minute, and this was certainly not the plan he’d had in mind for the evening.

It was completely unsurprising when he checked on the rice and found he had somehow managed to mess that up just as badly.

Vegetables and wine certainly were a fantastic anniversary dinner. He pulled back one of the chairs at the table, sinking in it. If he was smart, he would have gone and locked himself in his office, make sure he couldn’t be disturbed for the rest of the night.

He heard Andrés coughing the moment he stepped through the door. “Martín?” He called out, broken between soft coughs as he tried to adjust to the overwhelming scent of smoke still filling their house. “Martín? Are you okay?”

He could hear his quickened footsteps coming faster, before he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Martín put on his best smile, gesturing lazily with his hand to the disaster he had created. “I tried to cook for you.”

Andrés’ eyes danced slowly around the room, taking in every inch of the mess he had created. Martín pressed the side of his face against the table, still watching as Andrés tried to assess the damage. “Yes, I see that.”

He watched as the smile started to creep up across Andrés’ face, biting down on his bottom lip. His body had already started to shake with the laughter he was trying so hard to keep bottled inside. “Fuck you,” he grumbled, moving to press the middle of his forehead against the table so he didn’t have to look at him.

“Martín,” he broke, finally laughing as he slowly moved to place his hand on his boyfriend’s back. He knelt down next to him, gently rubbing small circles across his back. “You really could’ve waited for me to get home.”

He pulled his head up, looking down at him. “You were just so upset about having to go into work for a few hours, I figured I could do something nice for you.”

“That’s really not necessary,” he replied, as his smile turned into a proud smirk. He took Martín’s hands in his, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of Martín’s right hand. “I like cooking for you. I’m clearly much better at it than you.”

Martín rolled his eyes, leaning closer to place a chaste kiss. “I am a disaster.”

“You might be, but you’re my disaster. My handsome, genius engineer,” he whispered. He slowly let go of one of Martín’s hand, fumbling in the pocket of his green blazer. “You are too good to me.”

“I think I destroyed your kitchen, Andrés.”

He shook his head, kissing Martín once more to shut him up. “That’s very likely, but it can all be fixed,” he reassured him. He pulled something out of his pocket, looking up at Martín sincerely. “You make me so happy. Even if you try the stupidest things to try and make me happy.”

Martín looked him in the eye, before fixating on the small box he was twisting restlessly between his fingers. He could feel the tears swelling up inside of him, threatening to come spilling out. “Martín, this was definitely not how I pictured asking you to marry me this evening, but it’s the last part of the evening I can still can control.”

He smiled, a few of the tears he tried to control still sliding down his cheeks anyway. “That’s not really asking either, mi cariño,” he replied as his lip quivered softly.

Andrés chuckled, gently raising Martín’s hand to his lip. He carefully kissed his knuckles, placing the ring box in his free hand. “Martín, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” he nodded. He placed the ring box on the table freeing his hands to grab Andrés’ face in his hands to kiss him roughly. Andrés rose to his feet to stand over Martín, his hands threading their way through Martín’s hair.

They stayed locked like that for a moment, simply holding onto each other. Andrés pulled away softly for just a moment, smiling down at him. “I do hope you know I’m not cleaning your mess.”

“Shut up, you always clean up my messes,” Martín grumbled, pulling him back against him.

“We’ll still need to eat. I’ll put in an order for some delivery,” Andrés said, reaching for his phone while Martín’s arms locked tightly against his waist. His head rested in the middle of Andrés’ stomach, relaxed and comfortable.

Perhaps the night hadn’t been such a disaster after all.


End file.
